It has now been a month since I scratched from the Transcontinental Race on day 3, having lost my motivation after the tragic death of Frank Simons, and I am still not sure how that happened. Or what that means – if it means anything at all? I have given it time, I have been back on the bike, I have talked about it with other riders – but I still have not come to any kind of conclusion. Maybe writing about it will help?? So without knowing where this text will lead to, here is my (very) brief TCR experience…

Contagious

It is no secret that I had my doubts leading up to the start, and having to drive up to Belgium instead of riding did not really help either. But once I got to Geraardsbergen on Friday evening the race atmosphere began to take over: all the other unmistakable racers with their fully loaded rigs, the occasional ultra cycling legend, and excited locals: the town was abuzz with a pre race excitement that was contagious. This is really happening, I am about to ride across Europe!

The Saturday was even more so, excitement building up. And at the same time doubts diminished. The bike was packed, my gear was what it was – worrying now was not going to help. And the day flew by quickly – my planned 3 hours of sleep in the afternoon turned out to be a 30 minute nap, but better than nothing. And so, after a solemn minute of silence and a raucous minute of noise for Mike and an emotional good bye from Tina I found myself setting of into the night, together with about 300 other racers.

Into the night

Setting out all at once meant the first few kilometers of the race had a sense of togetherness that you usually do not get (nor expect) on the TCR, feeling more like a local club ride when I found myself rolling in a group of 30 or so. But it sure ended quickly enough when I took a left turn while everyone else went straight. And that was it for company – except for one very brief meeting around midnight and a headlight far off in the distance that was all I saw of any other rider that night.

The night was uneventful in the best of terms. The weather was great, I was happily riding along on small roads, only seeing a handful of cars and was able to refuel at a gas station at just the right moment. I wasn’t tired, and sunrise saw me powernapping for 5 minutes in The Netherlands, without any sign of having crossed a border (political side note: this is what Europe is about!!).

Racing after all

What surprised me when the day went on was the mindset I was riding in. With all the caveats I had given myself that “I will not be racing the TCR” I was, in fact, racing it! Not against the other riders or for the fastest time possible – but against myself on my set route. Occasionally a rider would pass me on the road while I took the bike path, or I overtook someone twice, having “lost” time because I had chosen a smaller and hillier route instead of the busy main road. And that didn’t bother me at all, I wasn’t tempted to hit busier roads to be faster. But without even having to try I kept stops to a minimum, maximizing my moving time. And in my head I was already optimizing my bike and equipment, shedding weight and decreasing aerodynamic drag for the TCRs to come (yes, I know: preposterous, very!).

Making plans

So when it was time for lunch on Saturday afternoon I was quite happy to see that I only had a little under 2 hours of non-moving time in the almost 17 hours of racing – an unheard ratio for me! With 320 km down at early afternoon, legs and spirit feeling strong I sat down at a large hearty lunch and made plans for the rest of the day: Another 90 km of easy terrain along the Rhine would see me to Bingen. That would be a good 4 hours at current pace, so my plan was to get another good meal in there, stock up for the night and then keep pedaling into the sunset, seeing how long I could go before I was too tired to continue. It was going to be a warm night, so I wanted to give my bivvy setup a try, seeing if I could get a good – and restful – five or six hours of sleep out in the open. Maybe 450 or even 500km would be possible before hitting the hay??

Frank Simons

Then I got the official e-mail that Frank Simons had died in a collision with a car and all plans became obsolete.

I did not know Frank personally and had not talked to him before the start. But I had sat with him in the race briefing only hours ago and he wore the same cap I did. And with that e-mail all the motivation, all the joy of riding suddenly left me, like a balloon hit with a needle. I rode on very slowly, not quite grasping what had happened. It was yet undecided what would happen with the race, but that did not really matter anyway – even if the race officials made the decision to continue with the race I would still have to make up my own mind about what to do. I talked to other racers I met, all of them shocked. Some spontaneously said that they would drop out right then and there, some said they would go on – in touring mode if the race got cancelled, but riding no matter what.

Everything seemed suspended: Riders rode side by side, talking about what had happened and what that meant. I stopped a lot more frequently, basically whenever I met someone else. General consensus was that the race would surely be canceled. Via the Facebook group a few riders organized a get together in Bingen, so I reserved a hotel and slowly made my way there. Most of that time I rode alongside Roger (cap #34), talking about what had happened. He wanted to go on, but said he couldn’t – he had been left lying unconsciously in the street after a hit and run with some broken ribs just weeks ago, and his little girl was already super scared for him. With a fatal crash now on top he needed to get off the road and back to his family.

What do I want?

That evening 10 of us met for dinner in Bingen, sitting outside until late, talking about Frank and the race and personal choices, all thoughts of racing put aside for some time. By now the official decision to continue with the race had been made (in the spirit of what Frank would have wanted), but even so three of us said they would drop out, one had in fact already done so. I had not yet come to a decision myself, so decided to sleep over it and get on the bike the next morning, trying to clear my head while pedaling. Usually that works quite well – in this case it did not.

My “race mode” was gone and I was in touring mode. Stopping for whatever reason became common. Taking a picture (another one), getting ice cream (another one), just a quick coke at the gas station (another one). Progress was slow and turning the pedals did nothing to clear my mind. Arriving late at check point 1 I talked again with other racers, a friend who had come down from Stuttgart and race director Juliana – but was still unable to come to any decision. So again I decided to have a proper sleep on it and see what the next day would bring.

A difficult decision suddenly easy

I did not wake up with a made up mind. But after a long phone call with my girlfriend at the gates of Castle Lichtenstein I made the conscious call to try and get back into race mode for the next 150 kilometers, up to the town of Kempten. From there it would be either dead south into the Alps or take a left towards Munich, heading home.

To make a long story short: it didn’t work out. It took me almost 12 hours to ride those 150 kilometers. Yesterdays touring mode had turned into a leisurely bike ride. Even more pictures, more ice cream, more coke stops. And when I sat in yet another ice cream parlor in Kempten that evening I realized something: The decision was not whether or not I should quit. It was if I still had the heart and the commitment to stay in it and ride hard. Which the last two days had clearly shown I did not, and unfortunately I saw no signs of this changing. I did not want to ride the Transcontinental at a touring pace, that was something I was sure of. It was “pedal my heart out” or nothing. Once I had embraced that difficult truth the decision all of the sudden was very easy: After 2 days, 20 hours and 840 km on the road, cap #153 scratched from the race.

No regrets

Looking back I am still certain that this was the right decision. Of course I am disappointed that I did not get to ride the TCR. And following the other racers’ dots made clear that I did miss most, if not all, of the adventure. Comparing my reason to scratch (“loss of motivation”) to what riders experienced further down the road illustrates that nicely: angry dogs, bears, getting run over by horses (!), struck by lightning (!!), battling a heat wave called “Lucifer”. And I only rode in countries I knew, my legs were still fresh and I had gotten plenty of sleep. I did not have to overcome any obstacles like broken wheels or pedals and the more “interesting” stretches of my route planning were all still to come.

But “broken motivation” will end your race more certainly than a broken bike.

The question of “why”

I have tried to understand if there is some deeper meaning in me quitting like this.

With Mike’s death in March going into TCR No. 5 the possibility of someone dying during the race was clear on my mind, so while of course not expected a situation like this should not have come as a surprise to anyone racing. And it wasn’t that I felt unsafe on the road all of the sudden – passing cars didn’t scare me and I was confident in (most of) my route choice, steering me away from heavy traffic. So it wasn’t fear or concern for my own safety that made me scratch. (I have of course been back on the bike since: no special road fear.)

Was my heart maybe not in it from the start, was the adrenalin and thrill of the start simply masking it and Frank’s death brought it to the surface? I very strongly doubt that. I enjoyed the first day too much and too consistently and was looking forward to the adventures to come. Heck, I was already planning my equipment for next year’s race!

So no, I do not know what this means. But I have stopped worrying – I think time will tell. When the time comes to apply for a spot in TCR No. 6 I will know if I want to give it another try….

THANK YOU!

A huge “Thank you!” to the “TCR family” and all the volunteers who made TCR No.5 possible and gave me this chance – even if I didn’t use it as fully as others. To Anna, Patricia, Russ, Juliana, and Tom – and everyone else involved, be it behind the scenes as dot watchers or check point volunteers. If I am not back on the bike I will be back amongst the volunteers in the years to come.

At the time of writing it is exactly 72 hours until I will stand on the Muur in Geraardsbergen (Belgium), together with some 300 other crazies, and set off into the night to ride the Transcontinental Race No. 5. About 4000 km across Europe, visiting 4 iconic climbs as checkpoints and finishing in Meteora, Greece. No fixed route, self supported and the clock never stops – whoever gets there first, wins.

I have been looking forward to this for about a year now, ever since I volunteered at one of the checkpoints in TCR No. 4 and basically knew that I would get a spot at the start line. The level of excitement varied greatly over the year, oscillating from anticipation to doubts and right now knowing basically just two states that change about three times a day: from thrills of exctasy to get this going to outright panic.

Mike

But things for me have also changed over this year, affecting how I have been riding lately. I don’t know if it is me getting older or if things really are getting worse out there on the streets, but I find it less and less enjoyable to ride my bike on larger streets with even just a moderate amount of traffic. Passing cars seem to be getting closer and there seems to be less respect for cyclists. So I found myself gravitating to small roads with almost no traffic whenever possible, loosing my dislike of gravel, in fact starting to look for it.

Then Mike died. I was on Mallorca for five days, giving my training a much needed boost. Checking the race status of the Indy Pacific Wheel Race before going to bed I watched with horror as someones harmless tweet (something like „road block on road such-and-such — hoping Mike isn’t forced to stop“) turned into certainty that there had been a crash and Mike had been killed.

Motivation at a low

Motivation was low after this – not just because of the uncertainty whether or not the race would actually go on, but because Mike’s death all of the sudden turned that vague, undefined feeling I had into a brutal reality.

I know all the figures and statistics and am convinced (and can statistically proof to you for all what it’s worth) that cycling is a relatively safe sport – but feeling that is something different.

So for a while my heart wasn’t into it. Add a horrible bike crash in the family (all good again, phew!) and for a while I would rather ride an hour long detour – including a 17% incline on a blocky MTB single trail on a loaded road bike with 25mm tires for good measure – just to avoid a 15 minute climb up the Fernpass. Which is not a nice road traffic wise but definitely not that bad. Riding like this eastern European roads would be challenging…

Change of approach

Luckily that improved and I am more relaxed again. As I said, I know the figures. But the ease of riding comfortably on a road with more traffic still isn’t back, and I doubt it ever will be completely. So the two overnight endeavors I started as training rides (Candy B. Graveller – text in German only – and Rando Imperator) were gravel events. And the route I have prepared is definitely not the quickest or flattest, but what I hope will have the least traffic. I also expect myself to look for alternatives while I ride, occasionally trying out smaller roads and cycle paths.

So in a race context this translates into: more km, more climbing, less gas stations and McDonald’s (fuel!) on the way. More chances to get lost, hit gravel or catch a flat due to road debris. Not really what you would plan if you wanted to ride across Europe as fast as possible.

„This is not a Tour“

The thing is, I would never have raced for podium or a place in the top 10, 20 or even 50. I don’t have the legs for that (even if training would have been what I wanted it to be) and I definitely don’t have the mind for it. I like sleep too much, I like good coffee and cake too much, and it is difficult to resist the urge to stop and indulge if I pass a good locking ice cream shop (Italy will be full of temptations!).

Mike once wrote a great article titled „This is not a Tour“ (read it, it’s great!), explaining how racing – instead of touring – something like the Great Divide or the World Cycle Race doesn’t make it less enjoyable, but maybe even more enjoyable. And I totally understand what he says, and when I signed up for TCR No. 5 I thought that I would be able to properly race it. I thought I wanted to race it. Not against the likes of Kristof or Björn or the other big shots, but against my own clock. Get to Greece as fast as I can.

„This is not a Race“

That changed for me, and I hope the words above explained that. Writing it down certainly made it clearer for myself. So when I get on my bike this Friday and set off into the night with 300 others crazies I will not race them. I will ride my heart out, I will pedal through the night, I will get up too early and I will eat too much fast food. But I will not ride the fastest route, I will chance gravel where I wouldn’t have to and I will definitely stop for ice cream more often than is necessary.

So for me, this is not a race. And that is perfectly ok for me.

Post Scriptum

Well, this post turned out a little different than I had expected. Originally I wanted to write a few words about the training, gear, route and last minute niggles. So here is at least a little of that in a nutshell, a proper post about this will follow after the race. Including a what worked and what didn’t.

Training: not exactly what I wanted it to be – but it never is, so that’s ok. At least a few long distance overnight rides in there. And the doc says I am pushing more watts than last year, so legs should be ok.

Gear: The bike has been tried and tested for years now (VPace T1ST), so no worries about that. But I have to admit that knowledge of my bivvy setup is at least in part theoretical. And the new navigation (Wahoo Elmnt, thanks!!) hasn’t been properly tested, so I carry a Garmin as backup. But I am confident. Oh, and it is of course way too heavy, coming in at 21kg all in – without food and water! No idea how people get their stuff down to 16…

Route: Around 4100 km with 43.000 m elevation gain (according to Komoot). When possible I chose smaller roads, even if that meant extra km or some extra climbing. I relied on strava heat maps and google streetviewed some of it. But I am far from a complete walk through on streetview, so there will be surprises…

Last Niggles: Getting to the start line was supposed to be a leisurely 5 day bike trip, scouting some of my route along the way, occasionally taking a local train. But a broken through axle in the girlfriend’s bike saw us stuck in Munich for 4 days, so it will now be a car ride up to the start. So much for the final test of my final setup and accustoming myself to the Elmnt.

But looking at the torrential rains we are having at the moment it might even be better for my motivation, so maybe that’s a good thing, who knows…

Follow me: You can watch the race unfold here at Trackleaders. Most likely I will be dot number 153.

I won’t take the time to post blog entries while I am on the road but will try to give quick updates on the Facebook page and share the occasional photo via Instagram. If you want to shout out some encouragement, please do so – there will be times I will need it

Thanks!

A great and loud Thank You!! to the organizers team that stepped in and made it possible for the Race to go ahead. Dealing with the personal pain of loosing Mike and still putting this on is incredible. Thank you for the opportunity of the adventure of a lifetime.

Additional info:

If you didn’t know: Mike Hall was THE long distance cyclist and the organizer of the Transcontinental Race. He died on his bike in a collision with a car this March, during the Indy Pacific Wheel Race in Australia

What happens if you roll close to midnight into the best hotel in Bozen, completely drenched and shivering to the bone, dripping onto the marble floor and pushing a horribly filthy bike? You are of course treated like a royal guest! They even insist you bring the bike into the lobby over night, leaning it against an antique cabinet that’s probably worth more than the bike.

And yes, they do have a room available. That’s music in my ears, and a few minutes later I have managed to make a total mess of the bathroom (dirt and dirty clothes everywhere) and stand under a steaming hot shower, washing off six hours of riding in the rain, slowly becoming warm again. When I am tucked in bed (stuffed with pizza and under two blankets), quickly drifting off to sleep I have already half forgotten how awful the descent down the Reschenpass felt in 2 degrees and all thoughts about scratching (yes, those were there) are quickly forgotten - lets see how the world looks after 5 hours of good sleep and a hearty breakfast!

Rolling out - into the fog and the sunrise

The day had started out really good - it wasn’t half as cold as expected when I (and around 100 other riders) rolled out of Munich at 4 o’clock in the morning. Some 650 km ahead of us, along the old via Claudia Augusta, all the way to Ferrara in the Po valley. Mainly on roads away from the traffic, including some gravel parts and lots of dedicated bike paths. All scouted and organized by Simone from Witoor (http://witoor.com/en/), thank you very much! After last weeks DNF at the Candy B. Graveller I didn’t have a real plan for this one. Just to test the knee and see what is possible, maybe in one go without sleep…

The chilly fog along the Isar soon is burned away by a beautiful sunrise and in a large group we roll along nicely, ignoring the good cycle path at this early hour. Soon we are off the streets anyway, rolling on nice gravel roads towards the first control behind Garmisch. Breakfast time!!

One climb down…

Freshly fueled by Nutella sandwiches and Italian ham we tackle the first of two climbs - the Fernpass. All stories I had heard about the Fernpass was that there is heavy traffic - but we climb away from the road, on quiet gravel roads. Only for the last part we decide to switch to the road, because we want to descend on tarmac. While I have been told the gravel downhill is well rideable (in dry conditions), some of us are on 25mm tires and we also yearn for a bit of high speed. So we brave the traffic (not that bad), take the obligatory picture with the Zugspitze and down it is!

… one more to go

Back on the original track in Nassereith we make our way towards the Inn valley and the second climb, on easy rolling terrain and with virtually no traffic. Occasionally the cycle path closely follows the motorway and we get to see the cars whizz by - I would not want to switch sides!

After a short stretch in Switzerland we tackle the second climb - the Norbertshöhe. The knee holds up, the climb is never too hard and when we arrive in Nauders we have basically done it - we crossed the Alps, all downhill from here!

Here comes the rain…

Unfortunately the weather on the other side of the Alps doesn't know that it is supposed to be better in the South and what starts as a slight drizzle soon turns to proper rain, plus it is getting colder. But we aren't far from the next control (and Pizza!), even Mike’s broken chain doesn’t stop us and we cross into Italy. Pizza feels great and we order extras, extending our stay a little and not wanting to head back out into the rain. Which is a mistake, because when we finally get back on the bikes the body has cooled down - and with a downhill ahead of us there is no real chance of warming up…

After the - again obligatory - picture at the Reschensee I find myself riding alone. I have a small defect, and in this weather waiting for someone will only cool you down, so the unspoken idea is to meet again on the track after the downhill.

I am by now shivering pretty bad - the Garmin says it’s 2 degrees, and I need get to lower (=warmer) ground fast. So I descent on the main road, not sure about road conditions on the official track. I have later been told it would have been perfectly fine to follow the track, but I just didn’t want to take any chances.

… and it is here to stay

I rejoin it in Glurns and from here the next 220km are easy riding: following the river Etsch all the way to Lake Garda this is first downhill, then pancake flat, aside from the occasional bridge and pretty much without any traffic at all. So in theory this should be a piece of cake: but it is still raining, switching from drizzling to heavy rain, but never dry. Luckily I find part of my group again, and all I am thinking about is reaching the next control in Bozen, hoping for a hotel there and fantasizing about a hot shower…

It really is head down and pedal - in the short stops we make I force myself to eat something, my mood is at a low, which also shows in the fact that I didn’t take a single picture for a whole 6 hours…

Now comes the sun!

When my alarm sounds after 5 hours of sleep I wake up relatively fresh and in a good mood. There is even a bit of blue sky to be seen! So I quickly pack the bike, do some damage assessment (camera didn’t make it - lesson learned here: if it has a zipper it is not REALLY waterproof, no matter what it says!) and head of to breakfast. Were I stumble upon Bernd and Carsten! Coughing badly last night they had also decided to be in need of a shower and a real bed and with breakfast being included they weren’t going to leave without it. So it is 3 of us rolling out at 7:30, with 314km to go to Ferrara.

On autopilot

The bike path along the river Etsch can be quite boring - but with yesterday in my legs I am happy to be just rolling along flat. Wind can be an issue here, but this early there is none at all and we are lucky throughout the whole day. Which means we make good progress - which is good, because we are unsure of the time limit to officially finish this brevet. I don’t care but my two companions do - so my plea for a pasta lunch is ignored and all I get is a quick stop and a slice of cold pizza and bread. Fuel for the body, not so much for the spirit.

Before reaching Lake Garda (and finally stopping for some proper food, thanks to my nagging) we have a smaller climb through the wine hills to best, but nothing serious. Not far now to the next control in Mantua, and another dead flat 100km from there to the finish!

On the homestretch

Most of the route now directly follows the river Po, often on a dyke that is again virtually traffic free. We are lucky and have a slight tailwind blowing us into a magnificent sunset! Everything here looks not just Italian but very Roman to me, like Asterix and Obelix would be coming out of the woods any minute, chasing some Roman legionnaires. But all stays quiet, and after 42 hours and 665 km we reach Ferrara! Tired and knackered, but happy!

153 – that’s what I wrote on my bathroom mirror this morning in big, blood red numbers. 153 days to go until the start of the Transcontinental #05 in Geraardsbergen. That sounds a lot, doesn’t it? But it also translates to less than 22 weeks and only about 5 months. FIVE. MONTHS. Suddenly that does not sound that long any more, especially considering the amount of preparation needed. Getting the gear, adapting the bike and obviously training. Training would obviously be a really good idea.

But what do I do? Procrastinate. Instead of planning my route I am reading bike blogs and other people’s TCR adventure stories. Instead of getting (and testing) the extra gear I need I get lost looking at online galleries of beautiful bikes on the Radavist. And instead of putting myself out there on the bike and ride I am watching six day and cyclocross races…

What should have and what is

There were big plans for training in the winter: I signed up for the gym again, even though I am not a fan of indoors. I had all intentions to extend my daily commute from a leisurely 20 minutes on my folding bike from the seventies to a good hour or two of proper riding. And of course – what I believe every cyclist plans for the winter – my regular core workouts…

I haven’t been totally lazy, have done some sessions on the trainer or in the gym, and there were a couple of days when I actually rode, even the occasional longer commute as planned. But when looking at all the hours over the winter I have probably managed to get about half a TCR-day worth of training into a week, max. HALF. A. DAY.

I just don’t get it

For some reason the full force of what I have signed up for hasn’t really hit me yet. That racing unsupported across Europe is a little more than the average spin to the ice cream place down the road. And I have tried quite a few things to drive the point home. I watched all videos about the Transcontinental (and again! Say procrastination…), I am following plenty of rider’s training on Instagram and Strava (just looking at the leaderboard in the TCR group should give me sleepless nights), I bought that red pen to write on my mirror – but I simply don’t get it. Hell, I am even blogging about it, but nothing!!

What the therapist would say

And I believe I even know the reason: Paris-Brest-Paris 2015. There’s a whole blog post or two in that idea, but the short version is this: it felt too easy. Sure it was tough, but I had no real troubles worth mentioning. Ride 620km, sleep a few hours, ride another 620km (with the occasional power nap). Plenty of fun and laughter and friends along the way, a wonderful way to spend 3 days (@74 hours I wasn’t super fast). Sounds cocky, and maybe it is – but that’s the way it felt to me (more about that here – German only unfortunately). PBP shifted my perspective. Already the preparation leading up to it did that, the 600km brevets and all the long distance riding – all of the sudden a 200km ride (300? 400??) just isn’t scary anymore, but part of the normal routine.

And even though that new perspective – that anything is possible on the bike, there is no such thing as too long – hasn’t been properly tested again since PBP I am still stuck in that mindset. And of course that is wrong. Not just because PBP cannot be compared to TCR at all, being organized and a signposted route, with the best support possible and drafting allowed. But also because fitness is obviously lost and I wouldn’t have felt that fine doing PBP without the proper training. So I know it is wrong, but I just don’t feel it!

Time to walk the talk

Now what, except complaining about it but not getting my ass off the couch?? I have about three more weeks of good excuses (work, travel) to keep training at the current low level. But then I intent to go on a long ride and suffer properly to show myself that my fitness is not what it used to be – hopefully driving home the point that I need to do more!! And starting in April I have a lot more time to ride my bike (watch this space, news coming up…) and some long distance rides and brevets planned.

I am confident that I will be fit enough to not just finish the TCR in time for the party but also to enjoy most of it along the way. Basically this off-season was like all of my off-seasons – doing only the minimum of training to not feel like a total bum. I did have serious hopes that having signed up for TCR would actually mean I train more consistently through the winter. Well, guess it didn’t…

So here’s to hoping I have enough lifetime mileage to play catch up quick enough!

/// english version ///

There is the e-mail from Mike, making it official: I will be racing the Transcontinental Race this summer. I. Will. Race. The TCR!

The Transconti-What??

If you haven’t heard about the Transcontinental Race, a few words about the it: Starting in 2013 Mike Hall is organizing a trans-Europe bike race, in the purest and oldest racing fashion: unsupported. Aside from 4 checkpoints between the start („The Muur“ in Geraardsbergen, Belgium) and the finish line (Meteora in Greece) nothing is planned for you. This year the race is heading to Castle Lichtenstein, Monte Grappa, the high Tatras mountains and the Transfagarasan highway. Roughly 3800km with 36.000 meters of climbing, give or take based on a first rough sketch of the route. If you want to make the official finisher party 15 days later (and who wouldn’t?) that means 260km per day.

The rules are very easy: Whoever visits all controls first and reaches Meteora, wins. Easy to understand, a little more complicated to get done. The route I take is entirely up to my own planning, any outside support that is not readily available to every other racer as well is forbidden – no follow car, no drafting. Just that: unsupported. But not un-watched. Next to the wave that’ll be rolling through social media every racer gets a GPS Spot tracker that sends out current coordinates and speed every 5 minutes. Big brother is watching (out for us)…

If you’d like to know more, check this or this. Or this nice video, following rider #171 in last year’s race. Or just ask me, but be prepared for a slightly longer monologue..

And just why exactly??

Ever since first hearing about the TCR 4 years ago I thought „what a great idea“. I am generally happy when I ride my bike, so riding longer sounds like a good idea to me. Of course it will be painfull or difficult occasionally, but even during Paris-Brest-Paris 2 years ago there was only I small moment that I didn’t enjoy that much… (you could read about that here, but I am afraid it is in German only).

Crossing the continent on my bike, stunning sceneries, meeting interesting people (at least when stopping at the checkpoints) – I have to say that is really, really tempting! And I am spending plenty of my time on bikes (even when not riding) so I might as well use the off season this winter for some route planing and obsessing over what new equipment I need to buy. So in my mind the question „why“ is more like a „why would you not want to do this?“

Why I am not riding this is to make the podium or a top ten finish. I am nowhere near the guys at the top, so luckily I don’t even need to bother thinking about that. But I will be racing this against myself, to see what I can achieve and how far I can push myself before „riding long“ becomes „riding too long“. But all this with the very strong intention to enjoy as much of the ride as I possibly can. Which means there will be coffee breaks, picture stops at the summit and the occasional lie-in in the morning when I won’t roll out at 4 am… The #171 video sums it up nicely in its title – A race journey, that is pretty much my expectation. A race, yes, but also a journey.

What now??

Now it is time for planning and preparation. 28th of July sounds like I have a lot of time, but registration was already 2 months ago, and those flew by in no time… 7 months, that’s all I have – so down to business! Of course that means staying fit, riding my bike whenever possible, but also working on the route I’ll be taking and buying some new stuff for the bike. Maybe even a new bike?? I’ll see…

I have a number of nice training rides and events set up for the spring and I’ll write about some of that on here. And if somewhere comes to town and fancies a ride, let me know – I’ll be riding plenty until this summer, feel free to join!